Ok. So Words. They inspire me.

For those of you who know me or have read here for any length of time, will know that journalling really is why I scrap. I have kept diaries since I was 11 and scrapping is just a pretty extension of this. It's also easier for the reader (not that i'd ever feel comfy with anyone reading my diaries!) to understand the person, place, time, event if there's a piccie to go with the story. Do you not agree? So I have really been looking into what I should be scrapping and what I want to scrap. You know I have a couple of albums filled with pretty pages. Yes, they are pretty but they mean so much less that the ones with the story... and usually the crabby photo! ;)

So, just to make sure I remembered. I did this LO. I have bags, boxes, albums etc... filled with old photos. Film photos. Not digital ones. Ones which if they ain't scrapped eventually they will get crumpled, damp, ruined... *shudder* So I guess i've gotta get going and put all these piccies in albums along with the memories. I found this pic which made me smile. Alot.

There's a whole heap of journo'ing about this person. Not exactly about the pic but then I think that you are able to take a pic and journo about them but something not about the piccie you're looking at. Do you get me? So my journo'ing here isn't about the actual pic. Ok, some is. Like how it's my eighteenth party and this guy I worked with on my weekend job for like nearly two years. The pic just says so much more.

I'm not even sure that when i'm no longer here my kiddos or thier kiddos will even bother with all the pretty albums I have. I'm hoping they will. Everyone is curious about their past, right? I'm hoping they will find the little pockets, flaps and notes I have documented over my life. The little books and little stories that have mattered to me. EDITED TO ADD: And can't you just tell he was a farmer? Since when does anyone go to an eighteenth party in a fleece???

It really is so much more.

This, however is one of those pretty LO's. The ones that mean less but you stick and add sparklies to make you happy. It's creating with no thought and no therapy.

And it's using the new yums I got at the shop the other day :)

This is very heartfelt. This place was where I lived for after my mum died. In 2002, every Sunday night during the summer months I went here. I had some of the best and funniest times here. I made some discoveries about myself here. And during the drunken haze of my youth... (that makes me sound ancient but looking back at this pic, I seriously feel like it!) ... I learnt some of the most important of life's lessons. I can do whatever I want to do. If I believe in me. Maybe I should've journo'd that underneath the flap. I didn't. I guess I should write it down somewhere. To remind myself when times get tough.

Underneath I jotted down why this place is special, the music that takes me back to that time, the peeps I went there with. The fact I used to be able to fit, quiet easily in the back of a tigra ;) and how blue diesel was a drink of choice.

This came about after a funny convo I had last month with Kev. Yes, his words were 'not another box!' When my Feb Studio Calico arrived. (Guess this pic tells you more too, as you probably have gathered the whole storage solution hasn't been resoved!)

I whipped the sticker off the box and plastered his mouth shut to stop the moaning. It made a cool pic, despite his protests! It sums up our house right now. The paper is taking over!!! ;) But paper makes me happy and it's free therapy.

I want to continue making the pages that matter. That tell our kiddos about us right now. Warts and all. Hell, everyone knows kids tantrum! I wanna document the cute little convo's I have with Emily. The same convo's I have with Ben on the way to Em's preschool. The fact that three days a week, he contonually natters on about the box (an electric box on the next street on from ours), the birds (which he calls third and birds) and how, now he's aloud to walk on 'the lead' (a wrist strap) all we hear is him chirping 'walk, walk, walk' as soon as we're out of the preschool gates. These little things I might forget but I know I don't want to.